Alien Hands

Her hands float like pale aliens
Creatures with too few connections
They are not good for clutching
Turning and prying
Only for dangling, waggling
Pinching, and trying
Those hands can’t open circle doors
Glass knobs elude them
Barricades to entry everywhere
Scraped to clean
They’re on their own, it seems
Some bio-hydraulic born-in
Disconnected mode
She’s malcontent
With these Graceful
Life impediments
And trains them without end.

Thank you, Hilary Rodham Clinton

An ode to greatness in our time

A grateful woman sends her best regards

Hillary 2

All our unending thanks must go Hilary
Whose serious attacks against tyranny
In government, religion and the military
On our behalf, have been mounted daily, endlessly

Though weariness inscribes its boundless gravity
Upon that lovely brow, there is no stoop in those sure shoulders
Not bowed before the screeching rabble of the right.

I’ll work for you, I’ll vote for you, I’ll devote years
I’ll travel miles, never so many as you do
To give you what you need to do
Whatever you determine
Now needs doing.

If grateful eyes could give you more than adoration
What would I not give for your well-considered smile.
Goddess, never was there one more noble
Words whispered in what passes for a prayer
In these religiously embattled years
I offer up on your behalf, for you

Hillary 1

Have risen once again and yet again
Yet still reside among us
Your stiffened spine protects the child
Protects the village and the shrine
Our grateful eyes embrace your character
Your grace, your studied mind
Your urge to dance and mingle

It takes a woman, truly, such as you are
To give the world another way of seeing
As you continually do against all odds
You are a truly wondrous human being.

Photo credit: Wikipedia

Passing Threshold

Every tiny flame shouts out
In ecstatic joy
At passing thresholds into passionate expansions

Little universes, all,
Middle children
Until we meet and merge and wander

That rush of wet heat
Expanding through eternity
Were never inner city
With the all, the rest.

O, death and knowing freedom
Comes in transformation
The striving leaner topples
The cork erupts again

And we flow out
Hands like leaves upon
A fragile trunk
And roots searching, spreading
Fighting to store more

The energy we suckle
Light and waves and darker matters
The strings omniscient
And patients all
We brave the curl again.

(Photo credit: from a painting by Spring Bright)

Life in the Patterns

Blue energy

Life is the inhabitation/excitation
in patterns of Energy
Matter attracts, retains, emits, repels
Life is the result
Of energy being taken, acted upon
by matter/mass

When matter releases energy
It moves until captured by
Drawn to, converted by mass/matter
into patterned orbital,
Structural component/entity
Catalyst, reactor, reaction, phase
Until energy breaks out of form
Pattern, programmed being
And departs

No longer trapped by
Used by, formed and refracted
And absorbed by matter/mass
As protein, virus, DNA

Matter plays with, dallies with,
Enjoys, enshrines and longs for
Energy to transform,
Embrace until the cell, nucleus,
Seed of life can no longer contain,
Control it
And time, it moves ON.

Photo credit: from a painting by Spring Bright


Water buffalo & friend

Photo credit: from a painting by Spring Bright

Are the forests embattled in religious dogmas?

Do sparrows grinned to drunkenness
On some fermented berries
Fall to cats because of sac-religious songs
Sung after eating some forbidden cherries?

In the burning season
Do the creatures damn their heretic kin
For the flames that sweep in?

Does some vaunted god condemn the buffalo
Who will not choose to wallow
Nor prostrate themselves on earthen altars?

Do dragonflies genuflect above the waters
Dipping low at sunrise in a prayerful nod
Seeking grace and blessing from a wondrous god

Does the falcon crest a rise upon a
worshipped wind
The only one deemed appropriate to fly in?

Does a matriarch endorse a pachyderm
embodiment of heaven’s way
for elephants to earn rewards
that will be paid post death
In some eternal better day?

Do the spiders hail their Mary
Or long for some arachno Armageddon
To punish those whose webs need work

Believing some right toil will bring them buggy heaven?

What prophetess of bees teaches nectar gathers to fall upon their knees.
And isn’t all religious fervor just the same as these?



To My Mother (at 95)


Dear dark angel sifts her own
Sadly exhausted soul
But honey, sworn in the bay
In green flash wavelets

You rise and begin to play
And ancient madrigals softly swell
In that still amazing voice you lift
To earn the grace of motherhood again

You will recover,
Little very loving mother
Loving and warm as any other
Sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews

All gathered to your call
Together we love each other
But mostly we love you more
I thank you for every moment

For every untold breath of life
You gifted us with those endless talents
And one another and hopefully
We’ll recognize the on-going pleasures

Of brothers and sisters and living
As loving uncles and aunts
Thank you forever little mother.

This entry was posted on January 16, 2014, in Poetry.

The Brilliant Shining Path

SB 39

To slice through the Gordian knots
Woven throughout our laws
By the slickest of experts
Who never invented a thing
But a world class economic sting
In a basket of rules to
Keep any real progress from being

The brave warriors today
Are  the Snowdens, Assanges and Stewarts
Who face down the foreign
The big corporations
And the sweet tax havens
And private tax-free foundations

That the wealthy keep getting richer
And pad one another’s credentials
Employing each other’s offspring

What a dumb bunch of losers
We have elected
Never think they’re there, so
The people are protected
They’re cheaply bought embodiments

Of jesters who can always be beheaded
If anything they do or say offended

And so for billionaires pocket changed
Given to their re-election campaigns
The rich get to cheat their way to wealth
Without even a semblance of stealth

It’s so easy, man,
To cheat taxpayers
Oh, the
Brilliant shining path
Of their self promotions
Found always a way
To make the poor pay

Photo credit: from a painting by Spring Bright


This entry was posted on January 10, 2014, in Poetry.

The Evil Jockey

Night birds

The evil jockey rides the elderly employee
down the gouged earth into poverty
And smiles
His countenance untouched by irony
Whose horny visage hides his infamy
Behind a mask of faked humility
In the name of all the ones whose lives
He’s stripped of reason, stripped through legally
permitted fundamental dishonesty
Whose rights and wealth and liberty
Whose health, whose own humanity
Are swept up in that maelstrom: greed
Left with nothing earned but need
Standing with fist clenched
In shocked outrage, too poorly served
By crooked representatives and hollow Word
On some dank page in some corrupted library
He shakes that fist at constitutionality
Let down, subsumed, to slip into inanity
Can we stand mute before his misery?
Or are we called, required to see
That where he stands is where we all will be
As right wing zealots rewrite history
Gutting unions, stealing every benefit
Hard won, so easily

Photo credit: from a painting by Spring Bright


This entry was posted on January 10, 2014, in Poetry.